


Practice in New Jersey

by Laurel_Writes



Series: Meryl and Maks after DWTS [3]
Category: Maksyl - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-01
Updated: 2014-11-01
Packaged: 2018-02-23 14:04:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2550206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laurel_Writes/pseuds/Laurel_Writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Meryl visits Maks in New Jersey after Skate America to learn the dance they will perform for Shall We Dance On Ice. They also practice some their DWTS numbers and discuss the possibility of creating a new dance for Sway.</p><p>As always, these stories are inspired by the people whose names the characters bear; however, they should not be confused with real people or events. I don't personally know Meryl or Maks, except via television and print articles, and as far as I know none of the events in this story ever took place in Real Life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice in New Jersey

“Finally!” Maks stood at the door of his house, Sir Sleep next to him. He grabbed the suitcase out of Teddy’s hand and hugged Meryl with his free arm.

“Teddy, thanks, man,” he said to the man—as close as a brother-- behind Meryl on the walkway.

They did the partial man-hug, and Teddy said, ”I’m just waiting for the day when you pick _my_ girlfriend up at the airport.”

“When that day comes,” Maks joked, “then you’re welcome to the paparazzi, too.”

“Yeah, I know, sucks to be you. You guys coming over for dinner tonight? Mom says bring Meryl. No pressure, but your mom and grandma are coming, so—”

Maks groaned and grimaced, but then he relaxed into a happy smirk and said, “Sure, if it’s okay with Meryl. Babe?”

“I’d love to see your family again, Teddy. Please tell your parents I’d be delighted.”

“She makes me look bad; doesn’t she?” Maks asked, unable to conceal the pride in his eyes as he looked down at his friend, his partner. “So polite!”

“Anybody looks good next to a Visigoth like you,” was Teddy’s parting shot, and he headed back to his car.

“Later, bro!” Maks called after him. Then he turned to go into the house. Meryl had already entered ahead of him and was kneeling on the floor, caressing Sir Sleep’s neck and ears.

“Who’s a good boy, huh? Who’s mama’s good boy?” she cooed in a soft, seductive voice. Maks felt oddly jealous.

“Hey, _I’ve_ been a really good boy, and I’m happy to be even better,” he growled as he reached down and picked her up by the waist. Nuzzling her neck with his chin, and then her hair with his cheek, he whispered “I missed you.”

She gripped his arms and replied, “I missed you more.”

When he let her down, she turned and put her arms around his neck. He encircled her body with his arms and rested his chin on the top of her head. Neither spoke for several moments, as they just enjoyed the feeling of being reunited. Finally, though, Meryl let Maks go and headed over to the living room couch. “I just had a horrible thought,” she said.

Crossing the room to join her, he said, “What?”

Turning sideways to dig around in her backpack, she responded, “I think I may have left my textbooks on the plane. Damn!”

It didn’t take long to determine that no books were in the backpack. With one hand, she opened Safari on her phone, while with the other she continued to dig inside the bag.

“So what are you looking for now?” Maks asked, as he sat down next to her, twisting towards her so he could put his hands on her waist.

“That little folder thingie they put your boarding pass in. The first thing they’re going to ask me is my flight number. Frick, I probably threw it away.”

“Your flight was Delta Shuttle 5932,” Maks said. “Trust me, I learned it by heart.” He slipped his hands under her shirt and started to stroke her ribs.

“Oh, that’s so sweet,” she said absently, while searching for Delta on her phone. “Yes, I’d like to speak to someone about an item I may have left on one of your flights earlier today.” As she continued to talk on the phone, then pause as she was apparently transferred, Maks’s hands traveled up her torso. When he came to a bra closure, he thought, “Thank goodness, not a sports bra,” and handily unclasped it. Slowly, smoothly, he moved his hands around to cup Meryl’s breasts.

Her voice faltered briefly, but she continued to speak to various people until, sighing, she hit the red hang-up icon. Leaning back into Maks, she said “Okay, nobody’s going to know anything until about an hour from now. So if you were thinking of moving those hands of yours to any other part of my body, I’m all yours for the next sixty minutes.”

As he carried her up the stairs, bridal style, he asked, “Seriously, babe, you thought you were going to study while you were staying with me?”

“Well, I didn’t know what your schedule would be like, but no, actually, I was thinking I might be able to do some reading during Skate America, but--”

Her voice broke off as he laid her on his bed, whipped off his t-shirt and sweats, stretched out alongside her, and took her head in his hands for a long kiss.

“--it was too distracting,” she finished, coming up for air.

“I’ll show you distracting,” he mock-snarled, trailing his lips down the side of her neck and sliding his hands under the waistband of her leggings.

“This reminds me, babe, did you bring those leather pants with you? The ones I saw you wearing on TV?”

“You bet. If you’re good, I’ll let you peel them off me later,” she whispered, nibbling at his earlobe.

“Practice makes perfect,” he replied, kneeling to pull her knit leggings all the way off, leaving her in a tiny pair of g-string style panties. He pushed these aside and opened the lips of her vagina with his fingers, making her gasp. When he started to suck and kiss her clitoris, he felt her knead his hair with her fingers. Finally, her thighs convulsed, and she cried out his name softly.

Maks pulled the ridiculously minuscule panties all the way off, wiped his nose, lips and chin with them, and threw them on top of the abandoned leggings. Then he positioned himself above her, propped on his elbows to spare her the bulk of his weight, and kissed her. “What can I do for my princess now?”

“Maks, come inside me. I want you close, closer,” she pleaded.

He entered her slowly, moving in lazy thrusts, then focusing more and more on her special spot. She started to follow him with her hips, smiling as she remembered their salsa lessons. He was looking into her eyes and, catching the change of expression, smiled back at her. “Find your ‘dirty place’ yet, babe?”

“Mmm,” she moaned, and sped up her hip action. He accelerated in turn, and they worked their dance together until both reached a glorious climax. Meryl could feel the pleasure radiating out into her fingertips. “I think that rates as good, my dear teddybear.”

He had slid off her to lie by her side and was playing with the hair that flowed over her shoulder and spilled onto her breast. “I hate to interrupt this, I really do, but we only have the rest of the day today and all of tomorrow to work with. I’m leaving for Texas Wednesday morning, and I think you have to be at the Arctic Edge, too?”

“I know, sweetie. No apologies. I’m glad we have this much time. Just let me grab a shower—oh, and, could you bring up my suitcase? What should I wear to the studio?” She was sitting up, still stark naked, and looking around as though wondering what had happened to her clothes.

“We don’t need to go to the studio until tomorrow,” he said, standing up and striding over to the closet. “What you were wearing when you got here will be fine.” He pulled out a long, white embroidered kaftan and tossed it to her on the bed. “I thought we could go into the rec room and just run through the dances you already know—that will be enough for today. If we work until about five, that should take care of it, and then we can clean up to go over to Jhanna’s. Tomorrow we’ll work on learning the new choreography in the studio.”

“This is pretty, Maks,” Meryl said, pulling the kaftan over her head.

“I was talking to Nicole about finding you something you could throw on when you were here, and she knew this great little Middle Eastern style boutique--”

“When does Nicole ever _not_ know a great little boutique?” Meryl asked, chuckling. “Anyway, it’s nice, I like it. And so thoughtful of you.” She walked around the bed and kissed him on the mouth. “I think I’ll just get back into my travel clothes for our dance practice and shower and change after we’re done.”

****

In the car, on the way to the Volynets’ house, Meryl put her hand on Maks’s thigh. “It was different from what I expected, doing those dances again.”

“It really was,” Maks agreed. “We’ve gone through so much emotionally since then—in a way, they felt like different dances.”

“I know. It was a relief the steps came back to me so quickly—I had worried about that. But--”

“Stop right there—I know what you’re going to say. And I’ll have to think it over when I get a chance. _Something_ needs to be changed before we perform them in public again. Maybe we should even scrap the idea of reproducing them. You know, the fans have been writing to Alex a lot, asking for a paso doble.”

“But you are doing that with Peta; right?”

“I _did_ one with Peta last time. And I did essentially the same one over the summer with Karina for Ballroom With a Twist. But I wonder what might be involved in choreographing a new one, just for you.” Maks put his hand on hers and added “I know it would put a lot more stress on you, so maybe--”

“I don’t mind, I really don’t. The logistics are kind of tough, but we’ve worked through difficult challenges before. And I really want these two performances to be special, beyond special.” Meryl turned her hand over and intertwined her fingers in his.

“So do I—I want you to really blow their minds. And this is nothing to what we’ll be able to do when your schedule frees up. I’m already thinking about doing a new version of Sway on the West Coast next year. Listen, when we get home, we’ll go through your calendar again—both our calendars—and somehow—we need to pull out five more days, and maybe we can fiddle around with videos and such to help make up for the time deficit.”

****

That evening, sitting on the couch together, replete with too much food—and Meryl, at least, emotionally drained from the nonstop questions and conversation with an extended family of room-filling personalities--they revisited the topic of how stretch her availability.

“Okay, Maks, I think it’s settled. I’ll fly to LA straight from San Jose Sunday night. The flight doesn’t get in until about 11—is that okay?”

“That’s fine. I can even pick you up myself. I’ll just wait outside the baggage claim—nobody will notice us at that time of night.”

“All right. We have the gig in Cleveland on the 8th, so I need to head back there Thursday night—United has a red-eye that will get me in early Friday morning. I’ve _got_ to be there for the group choreography.”

“So, that means we’ve got four full days. We’ve done more with less, for sure. But, you need to learn the Shall We Dance choreo I’m teaching you tomorrow, plus you have—what?--eight ice dance routines to keep in your head, as well?”

“It’s okay. A couple of them I’ve done a bunch of times, and some of the new stuff will be pretty basic. Group numbers can’t get very complex, anyway, there are too many moving parts, and you can only slow things down so much on the ice. But it may mean you won’t be able to do the choreo on the fly the way you usually do?”

“Yeah, that’s a concern. I may see if I can get Sharna to help me plan it out. I can’t ask Val, because he’s still going to need to focus all his attention on whatever he’s doing with Janel. Besides, I taught him what he knows. Better to have a fresh point of view.”

They headed up to bed and were asleep in each other’s arms within minutes.

* * * *

Early in the morning, the DWM studio was virtually deserted. Meryl wore a cheap, simple satin skirt over her black unitard, and Maks began teaching her the steps of the dance that had been choreographed for them by someone from the Miami ballet. It was a foxtrot, but not the languorous, romantic one they had performed on the show—rather, it was lively and fast-paced and felt to Meryl a lot like dance routines she had performed with Charlie. They spent the morning concentrating on the choreography itself. Maks had done some Internet research since the end of the show on teaching choreography to dyslectics, and before an hour had gone by Meryl noted the difference in his technique. When they were taking a break, drinking water and munching on some trail mix, she mentioned it.

“Don’t take this as critical, it’s more a statement of fact, but if you had let me know from the very beginning about this ‘challenge,’ as you would no doubt call it, I might have learned how to teach you more effectively early on,” Maks pointed out, putting his arm around her shoulders and kissing her temple to remove any sting from his words.

“Point taken,” she acknowledged, “and you have made it before, and I do get it. Just because your point of view is sensible, though, doesn’t mean it’s not still counterintuitive for me to admit to weakness. I hate for people to feel sorry for me, or that I’m making excuses.”

“I understand completely. But you need to remember—always to remember—that I’m not ‘people,’ but your partner. Just as you rely on Charlie to protect you from the consequences of your depth-perception issues, you need to be able to rely on me to know your weaknesses and help you to work around them. In dance, and in life, if I am lucky enough to call you my partner in everything, someday.”

“Yet it’s sometimes hardest to admit a weakness to you. You act like I’m this perfect person, almost a mythical creature, and I hate—I know vanity is silly, but I hate to show you my feet of clay.” She smiled as she looked up at him, to show she wasn’t too serious, but he grasped her chin and turned her face even more, so that they were eye to eye.

“You _are_ perfect. You are perfect for me. ‘All your perfect imperfections’; remember?” He saw tears well up in her eyes, and though it melted his heart to see his words had moved her so deeply, he realized this was not the time or place for more sentiment. He gave her lips a peck and said, “Bathroom break. Back here in five minutes.”

On his way back from the men’s room, he was interrupted by a text from Alex, and he took the opportunity to phone him and run the paso doble idea by him. By the time he returned to the rehearsal space, Meryl had been surrounded by a half dozen DWM instructors. One of them, Mario, a handsome young man from Argentina, was holding her hand in his and reaching with his other hand toward her waist, apparently demonstrating some subtle point about a tango hold.

Maks felt his face grow hot as he strode across the room and took Meryl’s free hand in his, then pulled her gently but firmly away. “Sorry, dude, but nobody touches my partner.”

He realized there must have been something in his voice, or the look on his face, because all the instructors backed off a pace and stared at him.

He dropped Meryl’s hand and put his arm around her shoulders.

“Guys, sorry if I overreacted, but you have to understand. We are lucky to have this woman here. And maybe I feel an exaggerated responsibility for her well being. But just think. In the next two months she has 10 ice dance performances coming up, plus two major public appearances, taking her to—I think--eight different states, and one of which involves dancing with me in a show that will later be televised. And if that’s not enough, she is squeezing in two performances for us at Sway, which, because of her, are already as good as sold out, and after these two months are over, she has to go to Japan to do another skating tour, and right after that she’s doing Stars on Ice, which will take her to about 20 cities in six weeks. Imagine the cost to her if she’s injured or impaired in any way while she is working for us.”

He let Meryl go and rubbed his hands together. “Someday, I hope some of you guys will have a chance to dance with Meryl, when her schedule is not so hectic and we can see about creating some new projects with her. But for now, while her time is so limited and so precious, I’m going to be as possessive and bossy as I need to be. Understood?”

The instructors, somewhat subdued, all made conciliatory noises and went about their tasks. Meryl turned to Maks, looking at him from under her lashes, and asked in a little girl voice, “Daddy doesn’t want me dancing with the nice boys?”

He stared at her, speechless. What had gotten into her? Yes, she sometimes flirted with him in a gentle, joking way, but she had never been coquettish. Overwhelmed by an onslaught of emotions he wasn’t familiar with, and--not trusting himself to speak--he grasped her upper arm and practically dragged her back to the men’s room where he had emerged a few minutes before. Pulling her inside, he noted the door had no lock, so he pushed his butt up against it and roughly pulled Meryl into his arms. He forced her mouth open with his lips and kissed her so hard she thought it would probably leave bruises, but then he pulled back, put his hand on the back of her head and cradled it under his chin. His breathing was ragged, and she could feel him trembling. Nevertheless, she had returned the brutal kiss, and now reciprocated the stifling embrace, as though nothing were out of the ordinary.

When his breathing was back to normal, he finally released her, realizing with surprise that he was not even slightly aroused. This wasn’t apparently, about sex, or sexual jealousy. He couldn’t analyze his feelings, he only knew he had never been flooded with such intense emotions. He looked, searching, into her face, while she gazed, unblinking and outwardly calm, into his eyes. He loved her, and he wanted to protect her, these things were clear, but he still had no idea what had just happened.

“Meryl.”

“Maks.”

“I don’t know what just came over me. I’m sorry if I was rough.”

“I don’t mind if you’re rough. In a weird way, I even like it. We just aren’t ever going to act like normal people, I guess.” She shrugged. “We can talk about it later, if you still think it’s important. We need to get back to work.”

Since he had no idea what to say, he decided her suggestion was sensible, and they went back to the rehearsal space.

Maks had talked to the choreographer and received permission to adapt the dance a little, to tailor it to his and Meryl’s unique chemistry and emotional dynamic. He was excited about one idea—at one point in the dance, the couple was supposed to shake hands, and Maks’s idea was to turn this slightly comic moment into a romantically intense one by recreating a variation on the jump-lift-straddle they had performed in their Argentine tango. At first it seemed impossible to manage with Meryl hampered by the long skirt, but eventually they worked out an effective version. When they broke for lunch, Maks was fairly satisfied.

“Now we need to focus on the refinements in your technique,” he told her in between bites of his chicken salad. “We never did this kind of dance—our foxtrot was a smooth one, and the steps are different. In spirit they’re more like the quickstep or the Finnstep you’re used to in ice dance, but of course, mechanically they are produced in a very different way. So, for the first two hours or so we’re going to concentrate on how we place our feet, and then we’ll go back to doing the entire dance. Okay?”

“Is it more like we did in the waltz?” She asked. She had just about inhaled her Club Sandwich and was now busy forking up potato salad.

“Our Viennese Waltz didn’t really have that much footwork—we loaded it with a lot of tricks. The basic idea—and I should have worked on it with you more in the DWTS foxtrot—but who knew back then what we’d be able to accomplish--is to let your feet sort of glide across the floor, so you’re not picking up your feet and taking steps. Don’t worry, I’ll show you. I’m not at all worried about your being able to adapt to it. Remember when Julianne was critiquing the Argentine Tango you did with Val?”

She nodded eagerly, her mouth full of potato salad.

“Remember, she said she was watching for you to pick up your feet? Well, she didn’t catch you because Val focused on that, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do this afternoon.”

After lunch their work went well. The DWM instructors stayed away from them, and by the time everyone was getting ready for the evening classes, Maks was satisfied with their progress. He suspected Meryl was tired, but of course she showed nothing but eagerness to repeat the dance as often as necessary. Still, it seemed a good place to call a halt, and he felt he deserved—they both deserved—a little down time when they could just enjoy each other’s company before they had to split up early the next morning.

“Okay, champ. Pack up your stuff. We’re heading home for the night.”

“You’re sure we got enough done?” she asked.

“Ha! I should have made a bet with somebody. I knew you would say that.” He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “I’m sure. I’m going to email you a video you can watch at home, and we’ll have other opportunities to do run-throughs. What I was just telling myself is that it’s time to shift from work mode to personal time. I want to get cleaned up, and dress up in something fresh and clean, and spend a lovely evening with my—my partner, whom I very seldom get to see. And I want to serve her a nice dinner, and then I want to sit on the couch with her, and talk, and cuddle, and maybe watch a movie, and then I want to take her to bed and make love to her until we’re both too tired to make love anymore. And then I want to sleep with her in my arms and see her sweet face first thing in the morning. What do you think of that plan?”

“Your partner; eh?” she asked, picking up on his hesitation.

“Babe, I don’t dare call you my girlfriend—for sure I’ll slip next time I’m talking to someone, and the sh—the poop will hit the fan. Besides, high school kids have girlfriends. It sounds so childish.”

She giggled, enjoying his halfhearted attempts to avoid using bad words when she was around—he would forget the very next time he got excited. She _was_ tired, and the program he had outlined sounded very appealing.

“Have I ever told you you’re a genius?” she asked. “I love your plan. Now, what should I do with this skirt you borrowed for me?”

“I’ll give it to the manager—she’s got a laundry basket somewhere in the back. You ready to head out?”

Meryl had slipped what she called her “dress sweats” and a matching hoodie over her unitard. Maks made a mental note to stuff a little Wear Valentin swag into her luggage before she left tomorrow.

****

Entering the kitchen from the garage, Maks, who had held the door open for Meryl to precede him, dropped their gym bags and took off in a sprint, shouting “Last one in the shower is a sex slave!” Meryl shook her head and followed him, knowing she could never beat him after such a head start.

There wasn’t a single dry surface in the bathroom by the time they had finished their shower, but both were grinning broadly when they stepped back into the bedroom, wrapped in absorbent bath sheets. Meryl started to blot her long hair with a second towel, while Maks rubbed himself all over, writhing comically to make her laugh, then shimmying with his butt while he held the towel behind him, and finally kneeling at her feet with his head in her lap. “Dry my hair, too; okay?” he said. She wrapped his head in her towel, covering up his eyes and mouth. They ended up wrestling on the bed, shrieking and laughing, and, inevitably, their horseplay turned into lazy lovemaking.

Satisfied, they broke apart, then Meryl turned onto her side and shoved her body, spoon fashion, into Maks’s. He barely managed to get his arm draped over her waist before they were both sleeping soundly.

When Meryl awoke, it was still early in the evening, but Maks’s side of the bed was empty and a delicious aroma was drifting up from downstairs. She jumped out of bed, throwing on the pretty kaftan had bought her, and headed down.

Maks was just opening a bottle of red wine when he heard her come into the kitchen, and he turned and crossed the room to hug and kiss her. “Nice nap?”

“Excellent,” she replied, kneeling to pet Sir Sleep. “What are you making? It smells amazing!”

“I knew I wouldn’t have time to cook, so I ordered some stuff from my favorite deli. There’s spinach lasagna in the oven, butternut squash bisque heating on the stove, and dessert is still a secret.”

“I am the luckiest woman on the planet. Can I help, set the table or something?”

“Sure. I thought we’d just eat in here—the dining table is so big and formal.”

“That’s fine. This way I can hold your hand under the table. Should I use the plates from the sideboard in the dining room?”

“No, I’ve got some everyday dishes in that cupboard on the other side of the sink. And this is the silverware drawer.”

While Meryl set the table, Maks poured the hot soup into a tureen, then filled two wineglasses and handed them to her.

“This soup is incredible. They should call it ‘magic essence of autumn’ or something.” Meryl kept spooning up the delicious liquid, and Maks smirked at her.

“I actually make a version that tastes even better. But—I don’t know how it is—it seems there’s barely time to cook anymore.”

“I’ve always thought it would be fun to learn. My secret dream—well, one of them, anyway, would be to stay in some little Tuscan town, or maybe on a farm, and have cooking classes every day. At night, we’d eat the stuff we’d worked all day cooking—after picking it out at the produce market in the morning.”

“Sounds like a perfect way to spend, say, a honeymoon,” he said, giving her the little-boy grin complete with dimples.

“If I went with you, you could be the teacher, and you could give private lessons,” she countered, using her trick of looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Two can play at the honeymoon hint game, baby.”

He laughed, getting up and taking their bowls to the sink. “I should know better than to try to beat you at that game.” Grabbing a padded mitt, he opened the oven door and pulled out a steaming pan of lasagna. He pulled a trivet out of a drawer and put it on the table, placing the fragrant lasagna on top.

“Uh-oh, maybe I shouldn’t have slurped down that soup so fast. That smells heavenly, but I’m not nearly as hungry as I was 10 minutes ago.” Still, Meryl ate a respectable portion of lasagna before clutching her stomach and saying, “Oh, God, no more. I can’t. That was delicious!”

She was so full, she could only watch uselessly as Maks put away the leftovers and rinsed and put the dishes in the dishwasher.

“I won’t even mention dessert yet,” Maks teased, raising one eyebrow. “Do you need me to carry you into the living room?”

“Yes, please,” she replied, pouting piteously.

Laughing, Maks picked her up and took her to the living room. Bypassing the couch, he put her down on a wide chaise and covered her with a crocheted blanket. He picked up Sir Sleep, who had been following Meryl around since she came downstairs, and deposited him in her lap. Maks picked up the remote and snuggled next to Meryl. “Let me guess,” she said sleepily. “I haven’t earned a chick flick today.”

“Earning is not what it’s about,” Maks reassured her. “You earned a gold medal in dance today, and another for hard work. But this movie is a very special one, and it’s for both of us.” He clicked a couple of selections on the remote, and a black and white movie started up.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It’s an early Rogers and Astaire movie, from 1935. Fred and Ginger do a foxtrot to Smoke Gets In Your Eyes.”

“Cool,” Meryl said.

She revived at the beginning of the movie, but soon her eyelids started to droop. When the foxtrot scene began, Maks paused the movie and shook Meryl gently awake.

“Wha—?” she asked.

“Princess, we need to get you to bed. We can watch the movie next week in LA.”

As he gathered her into his arms and lifted her, she murmured sleepily, “We never had dessert. Can we have it for breakfast?”

“I don’t think you’d like cannoli for breakfast, babe.” He sat her on the bed and pulled the kaftan off over her head. “You want a nightgown or something, my bionic woman?”

“One of your t-shirts?”

He grabbed a white cotton t-shirt out of the dresser and pulled her arms into the sleeves. Then he dragged the duvet out from under her and she lay down so he could cover her up.

“Sleep?” she asked.

“Yes, you can sleep now,” he answered.

“No, _Sir_ Sleep,” she insisted.

“Oh, okay, I’ll run down and get him.”

Once Sir Sleep had slobbered enough over Meryl’s face to satisfy her, he curled up on the rug next to the bed, and Maks stripped and climbed in on the other side. Turning onto his side, he pulled Meryl close, her butt snug against his pelvis, and they slept.

When he awoke, it was still dark out, but he cast a nervous glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Only 1:30. Good, they had another couple of hours. But where was Meryl? Just then, he heard the toilet flush and water running briefly. He could tell by the other sounds coming out of the bathroom that Meryl was brushing her teeth. Fair enough, they hadn’t taken the time earlier.

When she got into her side of the bed again, he propped himself up on his side. “You okay?”

“Fine. I’m just not used to drinking wine—it seems to make me pee in the night.”

“Be thankful you didn’t have beer,” he said. He lay back down, looking at the ceiling and taking her left hand in his right. “Meryl, about this morning—”

“It’s okay, Maks. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“Weren’t you—I don’t know—surprised, shocked, frightened, even—by how I acted?” he asked.

“Not really. Your emotions are usually pretty close to the surface, and I’m used to that. I think I sort of understood what was going on, and, anyway, you know I accept and love you as you are.”

“If _you_ understood what was going on, maybe you can tell me. I thought at first I was just jealous, when I came in the room and saw your hand in that kid’s, and he was about to put his hand around your waist. But that would have been pretty ridiculous, and even if he had wanted to try, I know you would never—”

“For so many reasons. I would never let one of your staff or students come on to me, I wouldn’t ever get that, uh, friendly with someone I’d met two minutes ago, and I doubt I’ll ever look at any man that way as long as I have you. I mean—I don’t _have_ you, exactly, but you know what I mean.”

“You _do_ have me, body and soul, as you know perfectly well, but this probably isn’t the time to get into that. Anyway, when I saw what he was doing I overreacted, for sure, but that was just the sort of exaggerated sense I have that I need to protect you—it wasn’t anything like sexual jealousy or possessiveness. And it was really already over, the overreaction, the explanation that was not really an apology but that I meant sort of as an apology, and suddenly I was overcome with these feelings. I’ve never had a panic attack, as far as I know, but that’s how I would have described it.”

“You actually did exhibit a lot of symptoms of a panic attack—shortness of breath, your hands got clammy, you started to sweat and tremble, and we had just taken, like a 15-minute break.”

“So what is your diagnosis, Dr. Davis?” he asked, raising an eyebrow, even though, lying beside him, she couldn’t see his face.

“I think you are a little bit of a control freak, and something about seeing me with Mario made you feel, for some reason, that you were losing or had lost control. I don’t know why I feel that.”

Maks thought he should be over marveling at how astute she could sometimes be, and at how well she knew him-- _got_ him--and yet made no effort to persuade him to be different in any way from what he was. Still, he felt a kind of molten bliss spread through him every time she demonstrated, again, that her instincts about his feelings—maybe even his thoughts?—were spot on.

“I think that’s probably pretty close to what happened. You know—well, we’ve talked often enough about marriage, and I understand and accept your decision that you’re not going to commit to it until we’ve been able to spend some real time together—”

“And no matter how persuasive, or moving, or charming, or pathetic, or sexy, or seductive you are, I’m standing by that,” she interrupted.

“Pathetic?” He _would_ pick that out of the entire list.

“Yes, Mr. Pouting Puppy Without Its Owner, pathetic.”

“Ah, you meant deliberately pathetic. I can live with that.” This time he lifted his head a little and turned to aim his grin at her. “But seriously, I try not to worry about it too much, because I don’t think of it as an either/or kind of thing, more as a when. When Meryl and I have lived together for a month or so, and we’ll have had the chance to deal with everyday life problems together and see that we can make it work, then she’ll say yes, and everything will be okay.”

“I’m not going to argue with that. I’ve never been coy about my feelings for you, and you know I don’t think the connection we have with each other, the understanding, the emotions, the physical attraction—I just don’t think that combination comes along more than once in a lifetime. I just need us to test it in the real world, because—well, I’m like you, a bit old fashioned about marriage. ‘Until we are separated by death’--I love that phrase from the marriage vows—I think it’s the Anglican version--and that’s what I hope it will be.”

He turned now, and she turned towards him, and they embraced, and he kissed her all down the side of her face, from temple to earlobe. “I know. I feel the same. We don’t say vows at a Jewish wedding, but the ‘until death’ part is implied in the covenant.”

Still holding her close, he continued, “But, even though your decision is technically out of my control, my feelings about it are—usually—pretty optimistic. This morning, though--something about what happened triggered this huge fear—made me grasp how much is _not_ in my control. I mean, that’s just life. You could fall in love with someone else—no, stop, I’m just saying it’s possible, not that I think you will—or something terrible could happen, like a car accident, or a plane crash, or a typhoon when you are on a tour in Japan—it almost seems like bad luck to list all the things that _could_ happen. And for some reason that just hit me, at that moment—or really, a few minutes after that moment, and I realized that all my expectations about my future involve this one unshakable thing: that you will be with me—we will be side by side and experiencing everything together. Yet through something that I have absolutely no ability to influence or control, you could be taken away from me, and I could be facing that future alone. And it shook me so much, I was almost paralyzed with terror--just lost my grip there for a few minutes.”

“It’s something we all have to face again and again,” she said thoughtfully. “It starts when you’re a child and someone close to you dies—your grandmother or great aunt, or, tragically, a friend your own age. And it doesn’t have to be death—a friend you are close to moves away, or just drifts away from you emotionally. Maybe it hits us harder as we get older, because we become accustomed to feeling more in control of our destinies. But fate, or God, or—whatever it is—can always play dirty tricks on us.”

“And I know that in my head. Of course I do. Anyway, what choice do we have? Would I give you up now because of the possibility of maybe losing you later on? That would be insane—literally. No one would get married, or dare to have children.”

“Speaking of insane—why do I feel so much more love for you when you let your emotions get out of control like this?” She kissed the tip of his nose. “And, more to the point, why are we discussing deep life and death issues at—” glancing over at the clock “—2 o’clock in the morning?”

“Good question,” he said, rolling over with her still in his arms, so that she now lay on top of him. “The Okheits are sending a car at, I think, 6:30. Do you want to come to the airport with me?”

“I might as well; my flight’s about an hour after yours. They said they’d be holding my books at the lost and found, so I can use the extra time to track them down and—maybe—do some reading.”

“Okay. That alarm is going off, whether we like it or not, in about three hours, so let’s get back to sleep.”

She slid off him, rested her head on his chest and put one hand in its accustomed place on his heart. “Good night, my beloved partner.”

He smirked as he replied, “Good night, Princess.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Though this is part of a series, it's not always internally inconsistent. In "After Hawaii," Meryl accepts Maks's marriage proposal, but in this story they have come to an understanding about it but she hasn't formally accepted. 
> 
> After Hawaii and Dance with a Stranger were previously published anonymously and will be added to this series, probably after the author has completed her NaNoWriMo novel.


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